


Like the Blood in You

by jejunestars



Series: Deathless [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Demon!Dean, M/M, Rough Sex, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jejunestars/pseuds/jejunestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam didn't know how much he needed Dean's blood until he tasted it for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Blood in You

"Do it."

Sam's hands are shaking, holding too tightly onto the handle of the blade pressed against Dean's throat. More than anything he tries to keep every part of him steady under the teasing stare of his brother's dark eyes, desperate to not let Dean see how weak he is, how bad he wants this. He's biting so hard into his bottom lip that he feels thin droplets of blood slowly escaping onto his tongue, filling his mouth with that dirty copper taste that's way too familiar to him. Not once does he take his eyes from Dean's, despite how all he wants to do is turn and run from this, and all he can think is how he sees nothing there, nothing of his brother at all; the demon's eyes are black holes swallowing up every little thing that made him _Dean_.

As he watches, Dean's eyes change quickly back to green, and Sam is left blinking, frowning, wondering ( _hoping_ ) if the black was ever there at all. Whatever Dean's playing at, whatever it is he's trying to make Sam do- Sam presses the blade harder against the soft flesh, not deep enough to draw blood, but he knows, he knows that if he just presses a fraction of a centimetre further-

Dean stares, somehow smirking with his whole body, every part of him radiating the promise of a challenge, holding an entire conversation with Sam with just one look. And Sam thinks he gets it, thinks he knows why Dean is here, finally, after all the months of desperate searching.

"It's all you," Dean says, his voice some kind of delicious invitation, and the way his mouth shapes the words is _obscene_ \- and Sam can't stop shaking, convulsions rocking through his whole body like an electric charge, barely holding it together. The knife almost slips out of his quivering hands, slick with sweat, and it's almost like Dean's entire face falls, lost of all its bravado and sick enticement and _Sam knows_. An illusory sort of calm takes over his entire body and the shivers stop, and all he can see is Dean and all he can think about is Dean and holy fuck-

Dean's eyes are black again. Sam clenches his jaw. His hand twitches.

When it happens, it's like an invisible force inside him thrusting him forward, pushing the knife ever so slightly harder into the hollow of Dean's throat, and when the first tiny drop of blood appears around the blade, it's all that his eyes can focus on. There's nothing else but Dean's blood, glistening temptingly on his skin, drawing him closer to his brother, filling his mind with beautiful, depraved, perfect thoughts. Dean pushes his chin up with a smirk, exposing more of his neck to Sam, and Sam presses harder, watching entranced as the blood falls thicker and faster the further he pushes the blade in.

The dark red liquid dribbles slowly, teasingly downwards, collecting in a pool at Dean's collarbone, and Sam- Sam drops the knife to the floor with a loud clang that barely permeates his senses. One hand grasps onto Dean's shoulder, holding him still with all the force he has, and the other runs through Dean's hair, the soft strands parting under Sam's fingertips until he grabs onto the top and yanks Dean's head to the side. Dean lets him do it, lets Sam spin him around and push him roughly up against the wall of the bunker. He stays eerily still, letting his body be manhandled into whichever position Sam wants him in. The significance of this isn't lost to Sam, even as he lowers his head to Dean's neck, parting his lips, his tongue practically watering at the sight of Dean's - no, the _demon_ \- blood.

Dean's body visibly stiffens against Sam's at the first light touch of his tongue over Dean's skin. And it's like Sam's nerve endings explode, his insides are on fire, his veins pulsing with his own blood in a sick desperation. At the first taste, he can't stop, and he lets his entire mouth close around the cut with a long, drawn out groan, settling himself against Dean's body, letting his other hand fall to Dean's neck and he's holding on harder to him than he ever has to anything in his life.

Dean's hand trails lazily up his spine, but Sam can barely feel it under the rush of the demon blood trickling down his throat, burning a slow and steady path of pure ecstasy and it's all he can do not to cry out, letting his mouth form moans and hisses against Dean's skin. Dean's hand settles roughly on the back of his head, his fingers tangling painfully in his hair and he feels his face pushed even further up against Dean's neck. He moans louder, pressing himself flush against his brother's body, sucking and licking at the wound, drawing out as much blood as he can.

Above him, Dean might say something like, "That's it, Sammy, right there", but even if it's just in his imagination he's already rock hard against Dean's hip and he can't bring himself to care about it.

Dean must feel it, because the muffled laughter from above him turns to an explosion of sound as his head is wrenched backwards from Dean's neck. Sam whimpers, honest-to-God _whimpers_ , and the surroundings of the bunker are brought back into his vision abruptly. His head is pounding as he looks around, confused, not knowing anything but the taste of Dean's blood on his lips.

As if Dean could hear his thoughts, he brings his hand up to slide his thumb slowly along Sam's bottom lip, collecting the blood he's spilled. Sam doesn't think it's _weird_ when Dean's thumb pushes past his lips, it's the hottest fucking thing he's ever felt and he groans deeply around the finger, eyes locked on Dean's as they flutter from black to green, his head falling back against the wall as he watches Sam lap his tongue around it eagerly. Sam swears his cock gets even harder when Dean's eyes roll into the back of his head and he lets out a tiny moan. He wants Dean so badly that every bone in his body is aching for him.

When Dean slowly pulls his finger from Sam's mouth and lets his hand fall back to his side, Sam doesn't waste any time in attaching himself to Dean's neck again. He gets only seconds out of his frantic sucking before Dean is pulling him backwards again, hard.

"Don't be greedy, Sam," he says, sounding a little breathless but just as cocky as ever. "You can have more later, but first-" Sam practically whines as Dean's hands drop to his own belt, unfastening it and pulling down his zipper in seconds "-you're gonna need to suck my dick."

If it had been any other day, Sam would have rolled his eyes at Dean's lame one-liner, but all he can do is stare, transfixed, as Dean pushes down his jeans and boxers slightly, just enough to free his cock from the confines of the fabric. He holds it in his hand, eyes glinting at Sam, and then without any warning he pushes Sam to the ground until he's kneeling at Dean's feet.

The force of the fall radiates throughout Sam's entire body and he gasps in pain, knees stinging and pulsing from the impact. But the adrenaline - and demon blood - rushes through him in waves, and the sight of Dean's cock directly in front of his face is such a turn on that he has to bring a hand to his own own dick, squeezing and palming it through the roughness of the denim, desperate for any kind of friction.

Dean's hand is in Sam's hair again but before he even gets a chance to push Sam's mouth onto his cock Sam is there already, his tongue swirling slow circles around the tip, trying to steady his breathing enough so that he can take Dean in all the way. He pulls off a bit, catching himself, and he sees the smear of the blood from his lips across the head of Dean's cock. He could come apart right there, just from the sight of it mixed slightly with pre come, and Sam licks his lips eagerly, tasting all of Dean in his mouth, rolling the bitter saltiness around his tongue.

When he looks up at Dean, hazel eyes meet black and they both groan in unison, Dean fisting his hand harder into Sam's hair.

"Fuck," he moans, and Sam feels good, really good. He's grinning, knows he looks ridiculous on his knees with blood and pre come smeared over his lips.

"Take it," Dean says, voice sounding strained as he pushes Sam's head back onto him. "All of it." Dean's cock hits the back of Sam's throat hard and he gags, choking around it, but Dean doesn't stop pushing, not until it's buried to the hilt. Sam can't breathe, throat tight around Dean's cock and he's gonna pass out out if Dean doesn't let go of his head, but it feels way too good to take all of him and when Dean finally drops his hand to Sam's shoulder, he stays where he is for a few moments before he slides his mouth off, gasping and spluttering, dragging air painfully into his lungs.

"Good, Sammy," Dean says, and it's almost a whisper. Sam squints up at him, taking in hiccuping little breaths, and the wicked grin plastered on Dean's face goes straight to his dick. He eyes the smudging of blood on his brother's neck and his cock gives another interested twitch, something which Dean most definitely understands by the expression on his face, and he runs his hand softly through Sam's hair.

"Good boy," he murmurs, black eyes glinting, "If you make me come, you can take as much as you want." Sam practically squirms on the ground, close to panting with need, but all he can do is close his fingers tightly around the base of Dean's cock, angling his head so that he can see Dean's eyes as he takes it into his mouth. He shudders involuntarily at the now familiar taste of pre come mingling with the rapidly drying blood, close to marking Dean's skin before he licks it off, sucking until he's cleaned every bit of it.

Above him, Dean groans, every sound magnified in the quiet emptiness of the hallway. Sam pulls back, pressing the top of his tongue hard against the tip of Dean's cock, swirling it around and over the slit and Dean's hand in his hair is more painful than ever, his brother jerking his hips forward into him. Sam kneels, his hand pressed firmly against the taut flesh over Dean's hipbone as Dean fucks himself into Sam's mouth, hitting the back of his throat over and over and the dull pain is like nothing Sam has ever felt before; it's incredible, the ache becoming more and more pronounced with each hit of Dean's cock.

Dean's hips stutter, his groans taking on a new form of desperation. "Gonna... gonna come, Sam," he gets out through panting breaths, holding himself completely still in Sam's mouth. Sam moans around his brother's cock and Dean grunts above him, again only letting go of Sam's head when he's on the verge of unconsciousness, and Sam moves straight away, pulling his mouth off of Dean's cock and sliding it all the way back in just as fast. He can practically feel the tightening of Dean's balls against his chin, so he bobs off slowly, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin, hard enough to make Dean hiss in a twisted mixture of pleasure and pain. His fingers tighten around the base and he gives his tongue one final press against the tip and Dean's coming, exploding in Sam's mouth and all Sam can do is wait for his mouth to fill up with Dean's come before he can swallow, but drops of it dribble down his chin and when the last of it has pulsed onto his tongue, he can only swallow half before Dean has pulled himself out of Sam's mouth and yanked him up to eye level again.

" _Fuck_ , Sammy," Dean says, his voice husky and delicious in his post-orgasm haze. His fingers swipe along Sam's chin and press the come that he missed back into his mouth. "You like that, huh?" His eyes are still black, and Sam can only hope that they stay like that because fuck, if he has to look into his big brother's familiar green eyes while he still has his come in his mouth, he could scream. He nods. "Show me," Dean commands, and instantly Sam is rolling it around his tongue, coating every part of his mouth with the bitter, salty liquid, moaning filthily while Dean watches, lips parted in amazement, and _what is he doing why is he doing this why can't he stop_ -

Sam swallows hard, his tongue darting out to lick up the rest of the come that he missed, and then he's clean, the taste of Dean still lingering heavily in his mouth. All he can think is how the taste of his come is second only to the warm, rich taste of his blood.

Dean doesn't hesitate.

"Get the knife," he orders, and Sam picks it up only a foot away from where Dean is standing. He watches as Dean shrugs off his shirt and tosses it to the ground until he's left in only his black t-shirt, jeans and boxers still pushed down, and he doesn't falter before he pulls his top off and he's standing in front of Sam, half naked and looking like every twisted fantasy that Sam jacked off to when he was fourteen.

Dean gestures to his torso, all lopsided grin and messed up hair, and says, "wherever you want, Sammy."

Sam falls to his knees again, wincing with the sharp sting of pain that flares back up, but he presses the blade hard against the smooth skin of Dean's lower stomach, right in the middle, and he drags it agonizingly slowly across a few inches, watching mesmerized as bright drops of blood appear around the edges of the blade.

Above him, Dean laughs. "Oh, come on," he goads, eyes following the blade's movement, "you can do better than that."

So Sam does.

He digs the knife in deeper, every moan of pain from Dean spurring him on, and when's finished cutting into the flesh he's left with a long gash in Dean's skin that's starting to bleed heavily. Sam's whole body is burning for it so he doesn't waste time in attaching his lips to Dean again, skimming them back and forth along the cut, flicking his tongue out to lick up the blood.

Everything is magnified then, the sweet sickly taste of Dean's blood, his hushed words of encouragement from above Sam, the taste of Dean's come still lingering at the back of his throat, and he's aware again how achingly hard he is. But he doesn't touch himself, doesn't try to get any sort of friction, because what his mouth is doing right now is enough for him and he just keeps sucking and sucking until he feels like his head could explode with the power surging through his entire body.

He never wants to stop, but Dean says the word, so he does.

He's on his feet in seconds, pushing Dean hard against the wall, and then his mouth is covering his brother's, their lips and tongues meeting in an awkward clash and Sam can't even believe that Dean is letting him do this but Dean groans around Sam's tongue, sucking off the remaining residue of his own blood. Sam's cock is practically pulsing in his jeans, begging to be touched, begging to be inside Dean, every part of him just knows that that's what this is going to lead up to and it's what he wants more than anything. The new energy pulsing through his veins allows him to pin his brother against the wall without much of a fight. There's something in Dean's expression, but Sam's not sure if it's anticipation or apprehension, and he doesn't really care.

When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse as hell, his throat aching with every syllable. "Wanna be in you," he mumbles against Dean's lips. "Wanna fuck you, Dean." Dean looks like he wants to laugh, but his eyes flicker fast back to green and there's something different in the way he looks at him, something Sam couldn't see when he was being chased around the bunker with an axe, when Dean was playing with him, teasing him. Dean rights himself, easily flicking his eyes back to black and Sam feels almost normal again.

"Go ahead, little brother," Dean smirks. "Not gonna stop ya." The sound that escapes Sam's lips is embarrassingly desperate, but he tries to mask it by grabbing Dean by the tops of his arms and pushing him on the ground. Dean falls way too easily, like he was expecting it, and Sam follows, straddling Dean's thighs while Dean lies back on his elbows.

"Really, Sam?" he snorts. "Here? Not even gonna take me on a bed?"

"Shut up," Sam practically growls, swallowing Dean's complaint with his mouth, and everything is Dean's tongue against his, hot and warm and soft-

He nips at Dean's bottom lip, drawing blood. Dean moans again and Sam thinks he hears a mumbled "Drink up, Sammy" but he's too far gone to distinguish it. He pulls himself away, sucking Dean's lip out with him, letting it go with a wet smack when the pull is too much. He sinks his teeth into Dean's neck, tearing into the cut he made with the knife, pulling out a fresh wave of hot, bitter liquid and gulps it down.

He takes and takes and takes until he feels like he could die with the force of it pounding through him. His vision is hazy as he pulls back, Dean's face blinking in and out of existence, and he was holding so hard onto his brothers arm that his fingernails drew blood, purplish-red bruises beginning to form in crescents around the tiny cuts.

"Gonna drain me dry, kid," Dean laughs, and it's mocking. He knows Sam's lost any illusion of control that he had before and he's reveling in it. "Thought I was getting fucked?"

Sam thinks if he has to make that rasping, frenzied growling sound once more he's gonna turn into Dean.

Quicker than anything, his shirts are over his head, fingers working at his belt and he pushes his jeans and boxers down to his knees, finally freeing his aching cock and all his breath comes out of him at once, like he's been holding it ever since he felt himself growing hard against Dean's hip. He wraps a hand around his dick roughly, giving it a few tugs and the friction is so intense he's biting down onto the same spot on his bottom lip, reopening the wound. Dean's smug face is right in front of his then, his hot tongue sliding achingly slowly along Sam's bottom lip.

Sam's had enough of Dean's teasing, needs to be in him now, needs to let all of his new power burst out of him, wants to lose himself in Dean's body. He shoves his brother back onto the floor and tears his remaining clothes clean off, so he's lying naked and vulnerable on the cold, hard tiles. Or at least, he would look that way if he wasn't perpetually smirking, no trace of awkwardness on his face, lying back and wide open for Sam. Sam's still fully clothed, jeans pushed down, and like hell he's going to waste precious time pulling them off.

He shoves two fingers roughly past Dean's lips and into his mouth, watches as Dean rolls his tongue around them, slowly and invitingly, coating them with spit until they're slick enough for Sam to pop them out of his mouth and drag them down his body way too fast, pressing them against that tight ring of muscle surrounding Dean's hole. He uses his other arm to push Dean's thighs back until they're almost against his chest and Dean hisses below him, squirming around his fingers as Sam pushes them in slowly until they're buried as far as they can go. Everything around his fingers is perfect tight heat and the quicker he can replace them with his painfully hard cock the better.

He scissors his fingers inside Dean almost absent-mindedly, not paying attention to anything than his own need and he doesn't care about stretching Dean open enough for Sam to fit without a struggle; he wants to feel him straining around his cock, that insane tightness pressing into him, surrounding him. It's an empty gesture, if anything, so he figures he won't delay any longer and pulls them out a little too early, Dean grunting below him.

He spits into his hand, slicking up his cock and Dean is staring up at him expectantly. Sam glances at him quickly, catching his gaze for half a second, and Dean must have taken it as some kind of signal because he does the most filthy, fucked up thing Sam could ever imagine and _fuck_ he has to stop moving his hand on his dick so he doesn't come.

Dean brings his own hand up to the messed up wound on his neck, dragging the tips of his fingers through the collected blood with a strained, low grunt of pain. His self-satisfied smirk doesn't take long to return to his face though, when he sits up and forward and reaches for Sam's cock with his bloody hand and _Jesus Christ_ Sam knows exactly what he's going to do.

When Dean's blood stained fingertips trail along his dick, Sam's whole being is about to burst with the force of his longing and he whimpers at the obscene sight of Dean's blood smeared along it, adding an extra slickness and he needs to be _in_ Dean, needs it more than he needs to breathe. Dean's hand comes away and he falls back onto the ground in front of Sam, legs spread open invitingly, his body a picture of perfection and his eyes dark as ever.

Sam angles himself against him, his blood- and spit-slicked cock pushing at his entrance, and he pulls Dean's thighs around his hips for leverage. He spends too long staring down at the perfect image of himself against Dean that he forces another dark chuckle out of his mouth.

"Come on," Dean says, his voice whiny and derisive. And then, "Do it," he commands, echoing his earlier sentiment. Sam pushes, hard, and he's inside Dean in one flush motion, buried to the hilt, crying out as sick pleasure courses through his whole body.

" _Fuck_ ," he groans, and he can't say anything else, can't think anything else. He pulls out of Dean almost completely before he slams back in, Dean moaning and whimpering under him with the force of it. Sam can't help himself; he kisses his brother again, needing to taste him, needing something to anchor him into reality right now. Dean eagerly reciprocates, dancing his own tongue against Sam's furiously and it's a hot wet mess and he can hardly kiss him and fuck him all at once. He pulls away, keeps his torso still pressed against Dean's, starting back up a steady rhythm of thrusting.

"Yeah, Dean," he forces out through quick breaths, "feels- feels so good." Dean just laughs. Sam lets his head fall onto Dean's chest, breathing in the scent of musk and sweat before he brings it back up, needing to stare into Dean's eyes for just a second but feeling like he probably shouldn't. Every part of his body is focused on grinding in and out of Dean in sharp, quick motions, sliding his cock out until only the tip is left before slamming back inside.

Dean's eyes are green, have been since Sam kissed him and he knows he's being mocked, knows Dean is enjoying making Sam feel _wrong_ , this sick twist of shame and guilt settling in his stomach every time his eyes flicker to his brother's, _his brother's_ , and he's fucking into his brother so hard he could break him in two if he wasn't a fucking _demon_ , and Dean is messing with him right now and he's about to lose control, lose everything, and _fuck_.

Dean doesn't turn them black, not when Sam clenches his jaw or presses down onto the wound on Dean's belly, so he buries his face in Dean's neck and lets his moans be muffled against the ragged, blood-soaked skin there. Dean's laughing again, viciously, cruelly, and Sam's anger only spurs him on, jerking his hips harder and faster and angling himself perfectly so that when he gives one long, hard thrust he hits right against that one spot and _holy fuck_ the sound that escapes Dean, replacing his laughter, is so delicious it should be illegal.

"That's right," Sam jeers, fucking over and over into that one spot and Dean's body is convulsing around him, hands groping pathetically at the tiles below him in an attempt to hold onto something, anything, because Sam is thrusting so hard he swears they've moved several inches along the floor. "Fucking moan for me," he breathes, trying fiercely to keep control, Dean's blood pulsing through his veins and it's fucking better than the feel of his brother's ass around his dick, white hot heat and pressure everywhere- "Scream for me like the little bitch you are-"

Dean does just that as Sam clamps his teeth savagely into Dean's neck again, screaming Sam's name in a steady stream and " _Fucking hell_ , Sammy". The flesh under Sam's mouth is a torn up, bloodied mess and he laps at it with his tongue, his mouth filling with blood again and it's pounding in his ears, everything is just Dean's blood and he can feel himself coming apart with every smack of his hips against Dean's thighs. He raises himself up on Dean's body, hands either side of his head on the floor and he can feel the blood dribbling from his lips to his chin and finally, _finally_ , Dean's eyes turn black with a pained, drawn-out groan at the sight of his blood on Sam's lips and he's coming, white ropes of it spurting along his abdomen and Sam is never going to forget the way Dean bites into his bottom lip, bucking his hips against Sam, riding his dick as his orgasm pulses through him.

The demon eyes are all Sam needs, they're everything, and then he's coming too, holding Dean still against him, pressing bruises into his thighs with his fingertips and he doesn't even care that he's howling out his brother's name while he comes harder than he ever has in his entire life. The taste of blood is thick in his mouth and he's seeing stars with the force of his orgasm, riding it out until it stutters slowly out of him.

He collapses against Dean's chest when it's over, his breathing heavy and ragged and sluggish. Dean twitches under him, grinding out the last short surge of his own orgasm, and then they're both still, the silence around them stretching on. Sam doesn't want to move. He's still hyped up on adrenaline, knows that he's probably going to be rock hard again by the time he pulls his cock out of Dean.

But Dean pushes against his chest and Sam sits up reluctantly, sliding out of him with a heavy groan and sitting back on his heels. He doesn't look at Dean, afraid to see which colour his eyes are now, which game he's going to play. He staggers to his feet, pulling up his jeans and fastening his belt with unsteady fingers. Dean's grabbing at all his clothes on the floor, dressing himself faster than Sam can follow out of the corners of his eyes.

That's why he's shocked enough to let out tiny, embarrassing gasps of air as he's thrown against the wall of the bunker, Dean's hand seizing the front of his shirt and the other is at the side of his neck before Sam can do anything about it. The blade of Ruby's knife presses cold and hard into his flesh and he can't tell if he's shaking from apprehension or the effects of the demon blood. Either way, Dean still presses the sharp edge of the blade into his skin and Sam sucks in desperate mouthfuls of air as the pain flares up. He thinks he sees Dean grinning as he cuts in harder; not deep enough to do any damage, but the pressure is sufficient for the blood to keep flowing until it soaks the neck of his shirt.

He can almost feel the raw power draining out of him with Dean's blood escaping his body, energy ebbing away until he's light headed and weak with the sudden change inside him. His eyes flutter, breathing ragged, and he falls almost limp against the wall, groaning, coherent thought starting to return to him. Dean's face is still in front of his own and Sam sees it in all its beauty, his green eyes spectacularly bright in his vision, freckles standing out starkly on his pale flesh and Sam wants to touch them, run his thumb along Dean's cheekbone, but he can't because Dean is his brother and Dean is a demon and Sam just fucked the life out of him but he can't bring himself to comprehend why.

Dean gives the blade one final push, earning another hiss of pain from Sam, before he pulls it away entirely. His other hand is still buried in the fabric of Sam's shirt and he brings his face so close to Sam's that their noses touch and all Sam knows is that he should probably be afraid of this new Dean.

"Next time," Dean sneers, black eyes shining with malice and lust and maybe even anticipation, "I'll show you who's the little bitch."

The knife clatters to the ground and Dean's gone before Sam can catch his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Blood on My Hands" by The Used.


End file.
